


the mirror or the eye

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Image, Episode 19: The Gentleman's Path, Episode Tag, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: “Caleb, don’t.” She pulls away from him, tugging her sleeves down to cover her fingers. “I know what you’re trying to do, and… don’t. All right?”“I like your hands,” he says, but he doesn’t try to take them again. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how you look.”





	the mirror or the eye

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr asked me to write something about Caleb reassuring Nott that he doesn't think she needs to change, even if she does. Apparently if you ask me to write some more of My Theme Of The Damn Year, a thousand words fall out of my brain at three o'clock in the morning. 
> 
> Warning for non-gendered body dysphoria and mentions of torture and alcoholism. (So, it's a Nott fic.)

The rain patters over the cart, the mud, over Nott’s ears, plastering Caleb’s hair to his head. Rain Nott can handle all right; it’s cold, and it’s damp, and it’s unpleasant, but it doesn’t frighten her. Puddles frighten her; you can be trampled and drown in a puddle, if you’re slow and goblin-small. Heavy rain can bother her, too, streaming over her face. You can torture someone by water as well as by fire, in tiny increments of drowning. But this rain is soft and steady, not a torrent. Not a danger. Their feet dangle safely above the ground; hers several inches higher than Caleb’s. (That’s all right. She doesn’t mind being small. And the mud is caked on thick enough that you can barely even see her claws.)

“May I?” Caleb asks, reaching over to unfasten her flask from her belt again. “It’s getting cold.”

“Of course, of course. Don’t you have your cloak?” Their packs are behind them; Nott turns around, rummaging a moment, and pulls it out. “Here.” She tucks it around him, close as she can; Caleb leans his head against her shoulder, tucking her flask back onto her belt.

“Are you cold?” he asks her. “Come here, I can share.”

“I – oh, thank you –” It’s not really about the cloak, as she curls into his side. She’s been cold before. But it’s been a long day, and a weary one, and she’s never told… anyone, really, quite as much as she told their friends tonight. She spilled some of it to Dolan,  _her_ Dolan, her halfling friend, but nothing since. And he already knew the worst of it; he could see the rusty knives at her belt as well as she could.

From the way Caleb wraps his arms around her, she suspects he understands.

“Nott,” he says, very softly. She lifts her head. He doesn’t say anything else, only shifts, letting go of her to catch her hands in his. Softly, he lifts them to his mouth and kisses her knuckles: one, two, three, and the second knuckle of her thumb. First her left hand, then the right. His beard rasps against her skin; his lips are rough and warm.

“Caleb, don’t.” She pulls away from him, tugging her sleeves down to cover her fingers. “I know what you’re trying to do, and… don’t. All right?”

“I like your hands,” he says, but he doesn’t try to take them again. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how you look.”

“But  _I do._ ” She shakes her head, feeling her stupid grotesque ears flap against the sides of her head. “I do, all right?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he says.

“Caleb, we both know you’re too smart for that.” She hunches her shoulders, staring out at the rain: little streams running off the edges of the leaves, soaking into the ground below. “Let’s just… let’s not be silly, all right? I look like a monster.” The tips of her claws peek out of her sleeves; she curls her fingers into fists. The rain is starting to wash some of the mud off her feet, letting the green poke through. “I’m not a monster – at least, I don’t think I am, at least, not anymore – but I look like one, and I’m tired of it.” She bites her lip.

“You don’t look like a monster –”

“Yes, I do!” Her voice cracks a little. “I look like a lot of monsters. A goblin basically looks like a goblin to everyone else, and besides, I told you the clan was all probably related. I look like a lot of _specific_ monsters.” She scrubs the back of her hand over her eyes. “Listen, just… stop, all right? I’m not okay with it. I’m not going to be okay with it. You can’t change – you can’t change how I feel about this, all right? Please stop trying.”

The rain whispers around them; Nott can hear her own heartbeat.

“All right,” Caleb says. “All right. If you say so.” Slowly, he reaches out, settling his arm over her shoulders. Nott lets him pull her close, her back pressed against his chest. He buries his face in her hair, breathing her in. She covers his hands with hers, this time.

“How you feel is how you feel,” he says, muffled by her hair. “If you don’t like how you look, that is your affair. But I hope you can believe that I mean it, when I say I do not care. That I like how you look. I do not see a monster, when I look at you; I see the first friend I have had in sixteen years. Maybe the first friend… the first friend I have ever had freely since I was a child. Not a monster.”

“That's... really what you see?" Nott asks. "Your friend?" Her voice catches a little.

 _A parent and a child,_  she’d said to the others. (And Jester is going to make her try and explain that, apparently.) It’s not like goblins raise their children; it’s a relationship she’s only ever seen at a distance. She loves him. She wants him to be happy. Anything that hurts Caleb is going to have to go through her. He needs her to keep him safe; she needs,  _needs_  him to stay safe. She took her best guess for making the others understand.

But Caleb does things like this, sometimes: kisses her hands and her hair and her shoulders when they wake curled up together. She likes it. She wants, sometimes, to reach out and card her fingers through his hair, to rub her thumbs along the scruff of his beard; she likes the feel of his mouth against her palms. She loves him in a way that goes all the way down to her bones. And he’s beautiful, and she notices. She’s not sure what to do with any of it yet.

“You are…” Caleb’s voice cracks, a little. His arms tighten. “You are a greater blessing than I deserve, Nott.”

“No,” she scoffs, tilting her head back. “You deserve plenty of things.”

“I don’t.” He closes his eyes; his eyelashes make a delicate, fascinating pattern against his cheek. (Goblins don’t have eyelashes. Nott’s not tired of looking at his yet.) “But I have you, and I am… grateful.”

“You’ll always have me,” she promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His slow exhale brushes against her mouth. She could kiss him, if she wanted; there’s less than an inch between their mouths. She could. She’s not sure why she’s thinking of it now. If he’s telling her the truth, he might not even pull away.

Maybe someday. Maybe. In the meantime, she curls into his side, pulling his cloak tight around them against the rain, and they spend the rest of the watch passing her flask back and forth. She only takes little sips – there’s no need for extra courage here, safe and together – but it warms her from the inside out.

 

 


End file.
